


Kissing The Tiger

by icarus_chained



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Demons, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Um. Right. Way back in 2007 (so around <i>White Night</i> era), I wrote my first proper DF fic, and my first Harry/John fic. Um. This is that fic. *ducks sheepishly*</p>
<p>Summary: Just your average day in the life of Harry Dresden. Pretend to be gay in front of half of CPD. Rescue your average mob-boss-in-distress from a face eating demon who just slaughtered his men. Get kissed. You know. The usual stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissing The Tiger

You ever have one of those days? The ones where you wake up, and just know, without ever opening your eyes, that today is really gonna bite you in the ass? One of those days where your car breaks down, the boss gets pissy and fires you, and you have that final, last-straw argument with your girlfriend? Or the one where you walk through a police-cordon like a drama queen in heat, onto the site of a mob-massacre/hostage situation, get blasted across a street, and wind up flat on your back with a mob-boss draped all over you and a red-haired gorilla wrapped around your ankles?

Yeah, okay, so maybe that last one was just me.

To be fair, I didn't know that was going to happen. I just had a feeling that I wasn't going to enjoy the day. And when you're a wizard , and the kind of wizard who gets into the kind of crap that I do on a regular basis, you learn to trust that kind of feeling.

So when Murphy called, and said she had something big she needed me to look at, I wasn't all that surprised. Then she told me it was a hostage situation, and I blinked a bit. Then she told me Gentleman Johnny Marcone was the hostage, and I dropped the receiver.

Look, it's just not the kind of thing that you expect to hear, alright? Usually, if there's a hostage situation and it happens to involve Marcone, then he's on the other side of the continent with about twenty different alibi's claiming he had nothing to do with it, and a few nice men on standby to have a talk with whoever was dumb enough to drag his name into something so careless. His security was the tightest in town, on the mundane end, and right up there on the magical end too. The chances of him getting taken hostage ... Okay, so there was that time he ended up dangled as bait over a pit while super-werewolf prowled around, but everyone has their off days. And he was fairly new at the supernatural gig at the time. I would have bet my life he would never allow it now.

Outside a nice, cheap office block in downtown Chicago, conveniently near the docks and out of usual traffic, Murph lost little time in putting me straight. The CPD had had eyes inside the building, watching for some deal or other, when Marcone came on scene. They hadn't been expecting that, since Gentleman John rarely did his own dirty work. Then the cameras went crazy, blinking on and off, and by the time they got any real picture back, they were just in time to see twelve mobsters dead on the ground, and a cute little lady in a red business suit holding Marcone off the ground by his 2000 dollar lapels. They really hadn't been expecting that.

Which, naturally enough, was why they called me. Cameras fritzing out, little women appearing out of nowhere and slaughtering the mob ... Yeah, it sounded like my kind of job.

"So, what's she after?" I asked Murphy. It seemed an intelligent question, but the redoubtable sergeant didn't seem all that impressed. 

"How should I know? The motives of strange female creatures popping out of the air are your department, I thought." Have I mentioned that Murphy looks real cute when she's annoyed?

"Well, you said it was a hostage situation. Don't those kind of things usually involve a demand of some kind?" She scowled at me, and I shrugged defensively. "Just asking."

Murphy turned away to look at the building, frowning pensively. "Actually, I don't know what this is about," she began, and I blinked. "Narcotics got the tip anonymously. We had no idea Marcone was even going to be here. The woman ... thing ... doesn't seem to know we're here. No demands, no demonstrations, no nothing. I don't like it. If no-one knew Marcone was going to be here ..."

"Then how did the woman?" I finished. "You think the meet was prearranged, and someone set up the tip so we'd be here when it went down."

Murphy nodded. "But that means someone either wanted to sew up Marcone and this lady both, or ..."

"Or they knew it was going to go south, and wanted us here as insurance," I nodded. "Makes sense."

She turned back to look at me. "Yeah, but that's what I don't like, Harry. This is from your side of the field. If someone set it up so we'd be here, then they knew we'd call you. They might be trying to sew you up on top of Marcone. Hell, it could even be him setting it up!"

I didn't agree with her there. Well, about the trap thing, yeah, but Marcone setting it up? Not a chance. If John wanted me dead, he'd arrange it, nice and simple, and without all this fuss. And he certainly wouldn't sacrifice twelve of his men to accomplish it. Whatever else you said about him, Gentleman John looked after his own. He was really going to be annoyed about this later.

I shrugged. "Well, if they wanted me, I guess there's no sense in disappointing them." I checked over my gear, made sure I could handle myself, and was about to stride forward when Murphy caught my sleeve, shaking her head in exasperation. 

"Harry, what part of 'hostage situation' didn't you understand? You can't just walk up there! She could kill him, or zip off the way she came, or anything! Don't you have any tact?"

"Nope," I grinned. "Left behind somewhere, on a date with my manners. Trust me, Murph. I know what I'm doing."

She looked at me for a minute, then sighed and let me go. "Yeah, and they took your sense of humour along for the ride, did they? Alright. Just come back in one piece, okay?"

I grinned again, and tipped her a hasty salute, which she shrugged off with a roll of her eyes while I walked up to the building and into the lobby. And paused to think for a minute. I wasn't nearly so sure about my ability to handle it as I'd made myself out to be. But I couldn't leave someone in danger, especially not someone who'd fought by my side in the past. I'm not sure if my chivalry thing exactly applies to ruthless mobsters with a chokehold on the whole of Chicago's criminal underworld, but it was sure having a good go at it. 

Which gave me an idea. Not exactly the most dignified of plans, but it had worked once before, and Murphy, not to mention half of the CPD, had the low-down already. You can't hide this kind of thing from cops. They're the biggest gossips outside of suburbia. I was just going to add some meat to the rumours, that's all. And it wasn't as if being thought to be gay was going to restrict my client list or anything.

Like hell, but since it might just about work, there was nothing for it. Sweeping my coat out behind me extravagantly, I tossed my head and put on the best flounce I could manage while keeping my balance, inwardly praying that my magic's unfortunate effect on cameras wasn't going to fail me now. 

Arriving in the hall outside the boardroom, I Listened closely. Gentleman John was quite reasonably explaining to his captor that there was no reason they couldn't handle this like businessmen, or businesswomen, and did she know that this was a three and a half thousand dollar suit that would quite appreciate being set down gently, thank you. The lady in question said nothing, her breathing calm and even. Someone else wasn't anywhere near so calm, breathing in a series of harsh, wet gasps that said that, whoever they were, they hadn't long to live. Everything else was eerily silent, save for a dripping sound that conjured some rather unpleasant images. I hesitated. Walking into a massacre was not something I wanted to do again, after recent events in the Deeps. But there was no help for it.

Pounding insistantly on the door caused an immediate, watchful silence from inside. When nothing else seemed forecoming, I hammered another time or two. Finally, a cool, pleasantly female voice demanded to know what was going on out there.

"John!" I barked angrily. "John, you get out here right now! I won't be put off this time! I don't care if you have got a criminal empire to rule, and an army of bullyboys to see me off, I won't tolerate being ignored like this! You hear me! I'm involved in your life whether you like it or not!"

There was a further, somewhat stunned silence. After I judged it long enough for the angry lover I was pretending to be to get upset, I started pounding again. "John! Open this door! Or get that floozy of yours, whoever she is, to open it for you! Hendricks will do, if the gorilla can figure out a door-handle. I warn you! I'm not leaving! I'm ..."

Whatever I was, I never got the chance to say, as the door was opened by the pretty little homocidal maniac, wearing a polite expression, and a fetching bloodstain on her collar. I blinked, then gathered my righteous anger back up, and swept past her. "I guess Hendricks couldn't figure ... it ... out ..." I trailed off, as if horrified by the scene, which wasn't exactly pretend. Blood-spatter and gore do not a fetching interior design make. Gentleman John wasn't looking too happy about it himself, although that could also have been because of the great spiny wing/tentacle/limb thing wrapped around his neck. I spun to the woman, who was in the process of closing the door, completely undisturbed by the monstrosity currently sprouting from her shoulderblade. Huh. Demons. No fashion sense.

"What ... " I started to ask, when she turned and gave a wide smile. A smile that showed her fifty odd pointy fangs off to perfection. I stopped. You don't argue with something like that smile, especially when it comes from a lovely, blue-eyed face. She licked her lips delicately around the teeth, watching me with sadistic amusement as I floundered.

"Well, uh, no offense, lady, but you'd put anyone off the fairer sex, if they weren't off it already." She laughed at that, a tinkling sound like a roof-full of razor sharp icicles about to fall on your head. I shuddered, and looked away, partly to scan the room, and partly to stop myself from staring in morbid fascination at her teeth. Unfortunately, the rest of the room was hardly a more edifying sight. Eleven butchered corpses spread artistically over the chairs, floor and walls do not make a nice reprieve from a mouthful of teeth, as they only serve to display in graphic detail what those teeth are capable of.

Of course, for me they had another effect. Anger, searing hot and lethal, surged upwards to join the fear already there, until my power practically hummed around me. Thugs and drug-dealers and mobsters they may have been, but these men had not deserved that. Even Hendricks, the only one still alive, though sporting two hamstrung legs and a gash in his side, sent my anger spiralling. Maybe especially him. Even bloody and torn and dying, Hendricks was still making desperate gestures towards his boss, trying to move to defend him, loyal to the last. Seeing that, I really, really wanted to blow this demon to smithereens.

The spiky living garotte around Marcone's neck made that a bit of a problem, though.

"Wizard," the demon hissed, her tongue flicking erotically out again. I jumped. Now, call me old fashioned if you like, but there really should be nothing erotic about a tongue moving between a set of teeth that would be better suited to a shark. This lady had some lust-magic going for her, obviously. Either that, or I've been out of the game waaay to long. I didn't think so, though.

"There were rumours, Wizard, that you were this mortal's bitch, but I did not think they meant literally," she smirked, derision in that cool, liquid voice. I shrugged uneasily.

"Yeah, well, you can never tell with rumours, can you?"

"Oh, I can," she stepped towards me, a ripple of her tentacle-thing drawing Marcone towards us as well. "Usually. I can. You surprised me, Wizard. A most unusual deception. I would not have thought you capable."

"You'd be surprised," rasped another voice, and both she and I turned to Marcone in surprise. Gentleman John ignored her, something of a feat, I would have said, and looked at me. Looked at me rather strangely, actually. Rather ... hungrily. I swallowed. 

"You would be surprised what this wizard is capable of," Marcone continued, something that might possibly have been lust in his calm, businessman's voice. His hands, wrapped around the tentacle as it lifted him off his feet, were curiously relaxed, as was the rest of him. His eyes were as impossible to read as always. Only his voice betrayed that hint of feeling as he stared at me, and quite suddenly, I was terrified. The thing about John, you see, is that you can never tell if he's bluffing, or in deadly earnest, unless he wants you to. And right then, I had no idea if he were playing along with my charade, or dropping a very real hint. And I really didn't want to know.

The demon, on the other hand, was delighted by this turn of events. She clapped her hands girlishly, which sent all the wrong messages to all the wrong parts of my brain, and laughed that deadly little laugh of hers. "Ah! A bluff, or a game, or a last wish, little mortal?"

John barely spared her a glance. "A most unfortunate deception, Mr Dresden," he murmured. "A most unfortunate deception indeed." And his tone left no doubt as to why, exactly, it should be so unfortunate. I backed up a step before I realised it. Can you blame me? I mean, demon-fighting, sure. Facing down a young woman with shark's teeth, a tentacled shoulder, and the light of insanity in her eyes, no problem. Facing a come on, from Gentleman John Marcone? You've got to be kidding me!

Apparently, though, his attacker was quite turned on at the thought, because next thing I know, I have an armful of mob-boss thrown at me, tentacle-around-throat and all. I fumbled the catch, with some excuse, I might add, but John locked his hands around my upper arms, and his grip was like a vice, even as he stared desperately at me. The force of it knocked me back a few steps, putting Marcone's back to her, and mine to Hendricks and the window, and he allowed a glimmer of fear to show where she couldn't see it. My arms tightened around his waist in reaction.

For a minute we just stood there. I was just a little stunned by the turn of events, and Marcone was obviously taking the opportunity to recover something of his usual sangfroid. This didn't sit well with our demonic hostess, of course.

"Well, mortal! Will you not take this opportunity? I would just love to see it. Your last kiss?" 

Which finally left me in no doubt that she was a few cocoa pops short of a breakfast cereal, and had the pair of us tensing up like there was no tomorrow. Marcone got that cold look in his eye that made a variety of business associates desperate to prove that they really hadn't messed up, boss. His left foot nudged my right, directing me to take a step in that direction. My eyes widened as I caught the gist of his idea. Five storeys up is a lot to take on faith, and I doubt Marcone truly believed I could fly. But I could do something else, which might be just as effective ... All we needed was for her to release his neck for a moment.

And to that end ... "Madame," I began, every inch the affronted lover, "if you really think I'm just going to do anything of the sort in front of you, you've got another think coming!" I manfully ignored John's smirk. "You quite put me off!"

Her face twisted into something vicious and angry, an expression which showed off her teeth to a tee, and almost had me squeaking in a very unmanly fashion, but it had the desired effect of making her release Marcone's neck and whip the tentacle furiously at my face. 

Well, obviously the part about my face wasn't desired, but some things you just have to deal with. In the meantime, I put my right hand out behind him, pointing back at the room and the demon, and shoved all my rage and fear and disgust down it. 

"Ventas servitas!"

The horizontal column of wind struck her like a piledriver, flinging her like a ragdoll against the far wall, and kept going. The relentless force of the moving air hit the far wall, and all the force and pressure surged back along the path of least resistance. Us, in other words. The force ripped me off my feet, Marcone locked around me, and flung me back at about twenty mph out the window. There was a thud just before we hit the glass, and a momentary pause as the force of the wind had to contend with the added weight of Hendricks clinging to my legs, but speed and inertia were the undoubted winners, and we sailed out the window over a street populated by cops.

I had about two seconds at the top of our arc to wrap my shield in a flexible, resistant bubble around us, before we began a rather speedy descent to street level, but after the Deeps, and that elevator incident with the Shadowman, I was getting rather good at the flying-at-speed-through-the-air-and-surviving lark. That doesn't mean that the impact between three men, the wall of the opposite building, and the pavement, was comfortable. In fact, it rattled the hell out of me, and for a few minutes none of us were particularly interested in moving, despite the anthill of cops we'd upset. Then a piercing scream rent the air, and a red-suited figure catapulted itself out the window, and plunged down after us.

I blinked up at it. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!" Marcone rolled off me with the speed of a striking snake, a gun appearing in his hand as if by magic, but he never got off a shot. A rapid burst of semi-automatic fire arced upwards and ripped into the flying demoness, tearing bloody lumps out of her even as they knocked her back to fall in a battered heap in the middle of the road, officially making her corpse the cops' problem. Somewhere down around the level of my knees, Hendricks gave a grunt of satisfaction, before dropping his great head unconscious into my lap. Marcone and I looked at each other, and shrugged. The big man deserved the shot.

Marcone stared at me for a minute longer, something unreadable in his money-coloured eyes. I shifted uncomfortably. John can do intensity like nobody's business, and seeing as how he was still drapped along my side, that little gun cradled negligently in one hand ... I really, really wished he'd say something, just to break the tension. And stop the weird feeling that was settling in my gut and making itself a little too comfortable for my liking.

Thankfully, before things got really uncomfortable, Murphy, her army of cops, and a set of paramedics arrived and separated us out. In moments, Gentleman John was up and disclaiming responsibility, acting the injured businessman, and demanding that his bodyguard be given immediate medical treatment, and that his crew upstairs be processed as soon as possible so that he could inform their families and organise funerals. 

I, in the meantime, lay back and put my arm over my face, thinking ruefully that I really needed to get a girlfriend.

\---

Two days later, after a slew of questions from Murphy, and pretty much every other cop on scene, after the body freaking dissolved right there in the street (sometimes I think the supernatural world has no consideration for us poor saps who have to explain things), I was lying in bed, feeling like something bad was going to happen that day.

Two minutes later, a knock sounded my door. Groaning, I rolled out of bed onto the floor, feeling like crap, and cursing the invention of the mechanical alarm clock. If only I'd been asleep, I could've ignored it. After a brief debate over whether or not to bother getting dressed, I decided to answer the door as is. Their fault for disturbing me that early, anyway.

Early or not, I wasn't stupid. I had my staff at the ready and the wards up as I opened the door. Unfortunately, this just meant I had something big and heavy to drop on my toe in shock. Gentleman John smiled sunnily in response. "Might I come in, Mr Dresden?"

Cursing, I hopped around for a minute holding my bruised toes. "I don't know, John," I snarled. "Can you?" Like I said, I'm not stupid. Just a little clumsy, and very annoyed. A fact which Marcone tactfully ignored as he stepped through my wards without setting off every demon-alert I had. Okay. So not a shape-shifting demon bent on my destruction. Just an unknowable mobster with Chicago under his thumb, a small riot-squad of bodyguards outside, my home address, and a strange look in his eye. I have all the luck, don't I?

"I hope you don't mind if these gentlemen wait outside for me?" said mobster asked urbanely. The lead bodyguard stiffened at that, but a sharp word from Marcone and all protests were stiffled. Including mine. Not that I had any, as such. Permission to leave my nervous, trigger-happy guards outside? Granted, with pleasure.

Marcone tried to close the door, but since I had yet to get it properly fixed, I had to pitch in before he managed it, closing it on the doubly-nervous expression of the unfortunate bodyguard. That accomplished, I leaned against it for a minute while I studied the man beside me. 

Gentleman John wasn't looking so good. He was dapper as always, of course, with a new suit to replace the one the demoness had so horribly abused. But a red burn wrapped around his neck, decorated with little cuts, from where the tentacle had been wrapped, and there was a hint of shadows under his eyes. Of course, he'd been arranging the funeral of his men, men who'd died for him. That would wear on anyone.

"How's Hendricks?" I asked softly. Marcone dipped his head in acknowledgement, a mix of pride and anger and exhaustion on his face. I wondered a bit about that. It wasn't like John to reveal that much.

"He will survive. He was lucky. He was beside me when she came, and only got enough to disable him as she was busy giving me a new necklace," he replied wryly. "One blow to hamstring him, one to hit his side so he'd bleed out. Unfortunately for her, Hendricks is ... not an easy man to wound deeply."

I snorted lightly. "Yeah. I guess all that muscle comes in handy." 

Marcone smiled slightly. "Indeed. Others, though, were not so lucky."

I nodded solemnly, and heaved myself off the door to pad into the room properly. Marcone followed me, looking remarkably at home, considering that his sharp suit should have clashed horribly with my rather shabby flat. I gestured to my mismatched seating collection in invitation, and shambled over to the kettle. "Coffee? Tea?" He nodded to the first, and I set out the mugs, trying to shake off the feeling of surreality that was rapidly shrouding my morning.

After handing him the mug, I sat down opposite him and indulged myself in a short stare. He sipped at his coffee, unperturbed, until I had to say something, or drown in my own impatience.

"You sent the tip-off, didn't you?" I asked. A corner of his mouth twitched as he nodded.

"Indeed. I knew something was wrong with the deal, and good information told me it was from your side of the natural/supernatural divide."

"You know, I really wish people wouldn't call it my side, as if it were all my fault whenever anything magical happens. I'm not solely responsible for every supernatural thing that happens in Chicago, you know."

"Thanks heavens," he murmured, a smirk hidden as he sipped placidly at his coffee. "Nonetheless, you are Chicago's foremost expert on the supernatural, Mr Dresden, and I was confidant the good sergeant would call you in if anything untoward were to happen to me. It was merely a precaution."

I frowned. "If you thought it was that bad, why didn't you call me in yourself? Or just not go?"

He shook his head. "I couldn't allow someone to make such overtures unanswered. And I thought it best not to get a Warden directly involved in the conflict of a free-holding lord. Just in case."

Yeah, okay, so that made sense. "But if you thought something like this would happen ..."

"But I did not, Mr Dresden. I expected some act of treachery. I did not expect a she-demon to appear out of the ether and massacre eleven of my men in the twenty seconds it took her to reach me!" His voice rose, then dropped back down. "They tried to get between me and her, and she cut them down like paper dolls. She slaughtered my men, men who were trying to protect me. Rest assured, had I known it would come to that, I would never have agreed to the meet. I do not sacrifice men for nothing!"

"Yeah," I said into the ringing silence. "I know."

Sighing, he eased up a bit, the anger retreating slightly. "I apologise, Mr Dresden. It has been a trying couple of days."

I nodded. "Not to seem rude, or anything, but I hardly expected you to arrive on my doorstep after those couple of days, John. My office, maybe, but not my home. It's hardly your usual milleu."

He smiled ruefully, and set his coffee to one side. "Yes, it is rather unusual, I'll grant you. However, I feel I owe you something, Mr Dresden. And I always make a point of paying my debts."

I shrugged uncomfortably. "Since it was Murph who called me in, and the CPD have settled the expenses, that's not really necessary. Like you said, you made a point not to personally involve me. It's cool."

Gentleman John smiled a tiger's smile. "Indeed. It was not a monetary debt I was refering to, Mr Dresden. Rather, I feel I owe you something for a deception too swiftly ended." 

Oh. Right. That. Um, crap?

I gulped. "That's okay, John." Suddenly, using his first name to annoy him, like I automatically found myself doing, didn't seem like such a good plan anymore. There was a strange light in his green eyes, and I couldn't tell if he was bluffing or in deadly earnest. "You don't have to."

He smiled, and got up out of his chair to prowl over to mine. I was suddenly excruciatingly aware that I was in nothing but my sleepshirt and a pair of pyjama bottoms, and that the weird feeling in my gut was back in spades. I needed a girlfriend so, sooo badly. Anytime in the next two seconds, in fact. Strangely, though, it didn't occur to me to try and get up, or leave, or throw him out, or scream rape, or any of that normal stuff you do when another man is coming on to you. That I've heard you do when another man is coming on to you. Believe it or not, I have very little experience in the matter. Psychotic tarts, vampires and succubi, yes. Other men, no.

For a short eternity, he just stared down at me, and I stared back, drymouthed and slightly panicky. I wondered if he was just trying to embarrass me, or test something I-couldn't-imagine-what, but after a second or two, I actually didn't care. 

Masochist? Me? Nah. Course not.

Then Gentleman Johnny Marcone, mob-boss, free-holding lord, and king of Chicago's underworld, leaned down and kissed me.

I've been kissed by the best. I've kissed my semi-vampiric girlfriend who loved me and whose spit was an addictive narcotic. I've kissed Lara Raith, who is Original Sin, succubi lust, and supreme hotness all rolled up into one exquisitly rounded package. I've kissed Elaine, fierce and proud and full of hormonal teenage lust. I know my stuff. Kissing John wasn't like any of them.

Kissing John was like kissing a tiger, without the fangs and the stench of rotting meat. It was hard and firm and predatory, like that feeling you get when you're all alone and you know something is stalking you, and once I got over the shock and started responding, there was a kind of dry, searing passion to it. I barely registered it when he sank down into my lap, wasn't even conscious of my own arms wrapping possessively around him, or his hands clenched in my hair. I gave back as good as I got, because it had been a while for me, not counting Lara, and there was something in John that you had to respond to. His men gave him loyalty for loyalty, his enemies gave him hate for hate, and I ... I gave him tongue for tongue and passion for passion.

I must have done something right, because when we broke for air, he smiled at me, and dipped his head to rest against my collarbone. His salt-and-pepper hair tickled my nose, and I snuffled a bit, embarrassed, and was rewarded by a small chuckle. By then, my sense of unreality and mispropriety were catching back up with me, but I ignored them. I could feel the exhaustion in the man as I held him, and the leashed energy that burned relentlessly through him. There was power in John of a kind that has nothing to do with magic, the kind of power that made men throw themselves in the path of a demon to defend him, the kind of power that made him the first true mortal to ever hold the position of free-holding lord. The kind of power that was sitting in my lap with my arms around it. 

John laughed gently against my neck. "I was half expecting a column of wind to be smashing me against a wall by now," he said softly. I snorted.

"The thought did occur," I huffed, but tightened my arms to give him the lie of it. "I've gotta admit, you don't back down easy. No way in hell would I have done that, if it had been the other way around. But then again, I wouldn't have thought of it, if it had been the other way around."

John smirked into my collar. "As I said, Mr Dresden, it was a most unfortunate deception."

"Harry," I said, and he raised his head to look at me questioningly. "I have this policy about kissing people. If both of us liked it, then they have to call me Harry afterwards. It's one of my few sticking points. John."

He sat up slightly, a challenging expression in his eyes, and I was suddenly aware that my arm was bumping against what felt like a shoulder holster. Of course, if John left his posse outside, then he had other means of defending himself. "Indeed?" he purred softly. "And do you have any other sticking points ... Harry?" 

I dipped my head to nuzzle gently at the wound around his neck, and he stiffened in my arms, hands grabbing my shirt and clenching. There was a shock of fear and anger and power through him, and I growled softly in reaction, but just licked gently at the edge of the burn, soothingly. I raised my head briefly to meet cool, money-coloured eyes, and smiled. "Yeah. Just the one," I said softly. "No-one gets hurt, okay?"

He stared at me, hard and measuring, and I knew in that instant that if I failed to measure up then no amount of power in the world would protect me from him. A tiger's soul stared out at me from those eyes, ruthless and passionate and lethal. Here was a man who defended those he cared for to the death, and destroyed utterly anyone or anything that dared threaten them. To get involved with Gentleman Johnny Marcone was to come down hard on one side of the line or the other, and woe betide you if you fell on the wrong side. I'd seen John coldly cut down an army of ghouls, I'd seen him face a loup garou, and I'd seen the murder in his eyes when he thought I threatened someone he'd spent his life protecting. 

And I'd seen him mourn the loss of an innocent, mourn the deaths of men who'd died for him, fight to protect innocents, and sag in exhaustion against my door. I'd felt him kiss me, felt the power of him, and the weariness. I'd protected him, as he'd had my back before, and I'd held him in my arms as we plunged down a five-storey drop. And I'd wondered why I felt strange around him. Jeeze. I guess it really was an unfortunate deception.

"Okay?" I repeated softly, and he nodded.

\---

It's unfair, it really is, how some people can put themselves together in two minutes flat, and look as if they spent an hour grooming. It is especially unfair when you know that that perfect suit came off in one hell of a hurry, and has probably spent the last hour hiding under your couch, along with who knows what else, while you and it's owner were ... otherwise engaged ... on the rugs not two feet away. Really, really unfair.

"You realise that you've given a lot of credence to the rumours concerning us?" Gentleman John commented lightly as I wrestled myself into my jeans, having ditched the pj's at much the same time as the suit went for it's little burrow under the furniture. I grunted.

"You may draw down some fire because of it," he continued urbanely, with a hint of genuine concern, and another of muffled laughter. I snorted.

"Yeah, like I'm the safest person in the world to be involved with right now, either. I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, John. Somehow, I think we can handle it." He was silent for a long time, and I looked up from my struggles to find him staring pensively at me, that unknowable look in his eyes. "What?"

"Be sure of that," he said softly, menace flavouring the words. "I've just lost eleven men, and one of my oldest friends is currently in hospital. I have no desire to add to that tally any time soon. I warn you, Harry, if you allow yourself to be killed, I will personally hire a necromancer to resurrect you so I can dispatch you again myself."

What can you say to that? I settled for nodding to him, feeling slightly perturbed, and more than a little touched. He nodded back, then turned.

"I should be on my way. If I do not leave this building within the next five minutes, my men have instructions to storm it." I blinked. Not at the storming of the building thing. I kinda expected that one. No, it was the ... hour and forty minutes ... leeway he'd left us. I could have killed him twenty times over in that time. He must have been really confident to walk in here like that. No wonder his bodygaurd had looked like he was about to give birth from worry.

At the door, he turned back to look at me. "I'll have my secretary give you contact details, shall I?" He smirked. "I wouldn't want you pounding the door down in the middle of a meeting because you felt neglected, now would I?" I growled. Unfortunate deception. I knew that would come back to bite me in the ass. "Still, I'm sure sergeant Murphy will prove adequate as always in defending your reputation." And he walked out the door before I could think of a reply.

Not to be outdone, I fastened my trousers and ran to the door. "John!" I shouted, and was immediately faced with four semi-automatics held by nervous, trigger-happy bodyguards. I paused, until John waved a hand and the guns went down a bit.

"You wanted something, Mr Dresden?" he smiled.

"Yeah," I retorted. "Just to tell you, John, you ain't no gentleman!"

And he smiled a tiger's smile, got in his car, and left.


End file.
